


Ideal

by sallysorrell



Category: Noel Fielding's Luxury Comedy, The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallysorrell/pseuds/sallysorrell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt of Asexual Vince over at the Ace Boosh Network.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ideal

Howard had told him to think about it, before he shut the bedroom door in Vince’s face.  Vince padded to his bed, perching in each corner for a few moments and forcing himself to think until he got bored.  Howard purposely did not give an estimated return time, as he was fond of doing when he wasn’t upset, so Vince gave up and settled back against his stack of pillows.

Vince was not the type of person who could fall asleep in complete silence.  He needed the reassuring sound of raindrops, or warm air from the radiator, even just the shuffling of skin against sheets.  

All of this, he realised, meant he couldn’t fall asleep without Howard nearby.  Howard turned over often, and would huff - but always listen - when Vince asked him questions in the early hours of the morning.  He would pretend Vince had torn him from powerful, poetic dreams, which was always a lie. 

When he shook off the duvet, Vince thought he was the victim of one such dream.  He could see some sort of glittery figure in front of him; he knew it wasn’t Howard.

“Evening, evening,” said the figure. 

Vince reached to replace his blanket, and sat back against the headboard, fumbling to reach the switch on his lamp.  

“Who are you?”

“I’m only here to help,” the voice was stiff but friendly, “I’m Fantasy Man.”

Vince shrugged.

“What, like my ideal man?” he ventured, “Am I dreaming?”

“Perhaps,” Fantasy Man said, “but you’re awake, as far as I can tell.  Do you mind if I sit down?”

He folded his legs over the end of Vince’s bed, leaving Howard’s completely untouched. 

“What’re you doing here?” Vince yawned and stretched his arms over his head. 

“You need my help with something, little man.”

It didn’t sound nearly as nice as it did when Howard said it.  Vince would question his dream patterns and projecting and other such nonsense later.  Or he would let Howard give him a lecture on it when he finally got home from his jazz gig.

“Is your mind a friendly place?” Fantasy Man offered, “that’s where we’ll need to go.”

Vince agreed that it was positive, most of the time, at which Fantasy Man smiled and snapped his fingers.  They found themselves in an empty room of Vince’s brain, sitting on plush red couches and facing one another.

“You’re having trouble with a relationship,” Fantasy Man gave his diagnosis with his eyes closed, which made Vince feel it was painfully obvious. 

“I, er, I guess so.  It’s just we aren’t any good at talking anymore, since he got back.  But I don’t think you can help with  _ that _ .”

“Of course I can!  Oh you’d  _ love  _ Fantasy World relationships, my friend.  You can talk a lot, or not at all.  Anything you want, you can have.”

“I don’t know what I want; that’s the problem.”

Fantasy Man opened his eyes and reached to pat Vince’s hands, which were drumming uncomfortably on the seat between them. 

“He won’t mind nearly as much as you think he will, your one,” Fantasy Man said smoothly.

“My… one?”

“Mine doesn’t mind much either, but that’s a different story.”

“D’you mean Howard?”

Every light in this particular room of the brain switched on, all at once.  

“ _ Howard _ , that’s the one.  You’ll say to him, ‘I don’t want that,’” Fantasy Man twirled his finger but pointed at nothing specific, “And he’ll say, ‘that’s fine!’ and you’ll go on with your lives, just like they are now.  Those will be his words exactly, I can promise you.  ‘That’s fine,’ he’ll say.”

Vince came up with several questions, but wasn’t sure which to ask first.  Fantasy Man reached forward, tapped Vince’s chest with one finger, and seemed inspired to continue.

“It’ll go, ‘I don’t want that,’ ‘that’s fine,’ and he’ll sit on his bed and you’ll say ‘I’m asexual,’ and he’ll say it again, probably,” Fantasy Man shut his eyes and spun one hand beside his head, to help connect his thoughts, “Not very creative - is he - your one?”

“Sorry,” Vince said, “What was that first bit?  Asexual?”

“Yes, I believe that’s reality’s term for it.  I’ve never bothered with one; we don’t need explanations in the fantasy world.  I am, we are, nobody without any sense questions it.”

Thousands of bright puzzle pieces suddenly fell together in Vince’s brain, and he told Fantasy Man about all his favourite ways to cuddle - which more or less ended with undressing - then the times he’d become uncomfortable at parties and left early.  How much he loved kissing but hated thinking about it, and how happy he was to be living with someone who never questioned him about this, who only accepted it.

Fantasy Man said ‘exactly’ and stroked Vince’s hands again. 

One by one, the lights in the room dimmed, then went off completely.  

Vince could hear the bedroom door opening, and searched frantically for Fantasy Man but found nothing.  Instead, he saw Howard approaching him, trying to kick his shoes off quietly beside the door, reaching for his neatly folded pyjamas instead of the lightswitch.  He could see Howard’s expression well enough, in the light creeping in from the hallway.

He could see the days of stress which had built between them, along with the silence.  Vince had been quiet because he couldn’t think of questions, or of answers, and could only watch as Howard tried to go out on his own, staying later and later each night.  Despite this, he tried to return quietly and refused to start arguments.  

Vince sat up in his bed and watched Howard sigh before turning around to switch his shirts.  Even though Vince had wall mirrors throughout the room, and they both knew it.

“Alright,” Vince began.  Howard turned and nodded back, “I was thinkin’ ‘bout it tonight, like you said.”

“Yeah?” Howard said through flannel.

“Yeah, I was just thinking,” he felt ridiculous, calling down his memories of Fantasy Man, “I don’t want that.”

“I figured,” Howard said.

Vince could imagine Fantasy Man shrugging and insisting this phrase was close enough to his script.

Howard sat on his bed, facing the opposing wall instead of Vince.

“I’m asexual,” said Vince. 

“Oh… that’s fine, then.”

Howard’s tone softened, and he turned over and immediately apologised for everything he’d done and said and thought about during the previous week. 

He concluded with, “I thought you just didn’t  _ like me _ .”

Vince called him ridiculous.

“’Course I  _ like  _ you!  I can’t think of anythin’ I like better than you.   _ That’s _ what you thought this was about?”

Howard felt bad for nodding.  Selfish, maybe.  And oblivious and altogether useless at being a best mate.

And he told the same stories to Howard, the cuddling and kissing and avoiding further advances.  How strongly he preferred staying in and crimping, and sometimes just touching Howard to remember he was there, welcoming, and safe.  How badly he wanted to try sleeping in Howard’s arms, not tonight but another night, so they could become even closer. 

“That’s fine!” Howard said again, relieved, “I, um, can’t think of anything I like better, either.”

Vince felt this was completely true, as Howard settled into his bed, tossing and turning and muttering about how late it was.  Vince was certain this was his actual ideal man, and, with an imagined apology to his Fantasy guide, he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
